


a room with a view

by andawaywego



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-06
Updated: 2015-05-06
Packaged: 2018-03-29 07:37:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3887776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andawaywego/pseuds/andawaywego
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Quinn starts calling her 'Broadway' in her head because the girl seems to stick to singing Broadway songs and, sometimes, she can hear her watching musicals. Broadway, of course, knows every single song." Quinn gets a new neighbor. Faberry. AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a room with a view

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing but the storyline in this. Not the characters, not the names. Nothing that would make me less poor, unfortunately.
> 
> A/N: This is AU and kind of weirdly, strangely sweet in a mildly discomforting way? In my opinion at least.
> 
> i finished this super early in the morning, so i apologize for any grammatical, or other, mistakes.
> 
> Oh, shout out to Rent-A-Car, my "almost" neighbor that inspired this piece.
> 
> Odds are, you will never read this, but I hope that you'll one day stop having your phone conversations so loudly while your windows are open. I'll miss you when I move in a few weeks. Peace.
> 
> A/N 2: The continuing adventures of moving things from FF.net to here.

…

_a room with a view_

..

Quinn's second apartment is small.

Granted, her second apartment is in New York City and not New Haven, Connecticut like her last had been.

But when she says small, she means _small_.

Like. No counter space small.

Literally.

She has to use upside-down crates to make food and dry her dishes.

She spends most of her time at work, or it would bother her more, no doubt.

.

The only thing visible out of her windows is the brick wall of the apartment building next door.

The windows adjacent to hers belong to a very loud young woman.

Her bathroom is right there and, when Quinn's electric bill is too steep one month—from her air conditioner—she's forced to leave her window open all day and night rather than waste energy to keep her shoebox cold.

By the second day of this, she realizes a few things:

\- This girl has a set of pipes.

\- She never seems to stop singing.

\- She's clumsy.

The first she knows because of the second.

The third she knows because the girl seems to break something made out of glass at least once a day, by the sound of it. Not to mention all the times something—pots, pans, and other heavy, loud objects—falls on the floor, typically followed by a loud, " _Shit_."

Quinn wonders, if she keeps this up, how long it will take her to run out of things to break entirely.

.

Quinn starts calling her "Broadway" in her head because the girl seems to stick to singing Broadway songs and, sometimes, she can hear her watching Barbra Streisand or Judy Garland musicals.

Broadway, of course, knows every single song.

.

Quinn loves teaching English.

It's a lot of work, but it's worth it.

Plus, she gets to reread her favourite novels over and over again.

By her second month of work, she's made a handful of friends.

The one she considers to be her best—Santana, who teaches Anatomy and A.P. Biology—invites herself over for a girls' night one Friday.

She whistles through her teeth at the size of the place.

"I know," Quinn says, sounding embarrassed.

Santana laughs. "No. That was because it's actually bigger than my place."

They're halfway through their Chinese takeout and their third _Kitchen Nightmares_ rerun when Broadway starts singing.

"The hell is that?" Santana asks, looking out the window.

Quinn frowns. "That's my neighbor. Well…my kind-of-neighbor."

"God, that would make me hurl myself off the top of the building," Santana comments and Quinn nods, though, if she's being honest, it's a tad half-hearted. "At least she's got a good voice though."

Now that is something Quinn can, and does, fully agree with.

.

Broadway has a very heated conversation with someone on the phone that night.

Quinn is trying to sleep, but can't, so she accidentally listens.

In listening, she finds out that:

\- Broadway was once engaged.

\- Her fiancé left her at the alter.

\- He then started dating a close friend of hers.

\- He is now engaged to that same close friend.

\- Their wedding date is the same that his wedding date with Broadway was.

\- Broadway is probably the nicest person Quinn has (n)ever met.

She knows this because Broadway is describing the bachelorette party of her close friend—which she not only attended, but also curated.

Quinn thinks that, had it been her, she would have simply punched her ex-fiancé and "friend" in the face.

"—so Brit and I come back out of the bathroom and she's wearing this…dare I say, fugly sombrero thing…Yeah…I know…That's really the only word for it, though…"

Quinn laughs a little to herself.

The conversation doesn't last long after that.

It's cold and the heat kicks on right after Broadway hangs up, but Quinn is pretty sure she can hear her crying.

.

Two weeks before Thanksgiving, Broadway gets sick.

Quinn's apartment has two radiators and, even though the one in the bathroom is really the only one that's ever on, it gets hot fast.

So she has to keep her windows open.

Broadway must have a similar problem, because she keeps her windows open too.

Which is why Quinn can hear her coughing up a lung and, from the sound of it, crying.

Sometime after Quinn has made her dinner, when she's grading papers, she hears Broadway on the phone.

"Yeah…I know…I detest the word, too…. _Understudy_ …But, listen to me, Kurt, I can barely talk…Yeah…Okay…I'll try…Love you too…Bye."

That's when she figures out why Broadway sings so much.

.

Broadway is still sick that weekend, and Quinn hears her crying a few more times.

She's lying in bed Saturday night, when Broadway—she can tell by the light shining into her apartment—is in her bathroom. The faucet is running and Broadway sneezes, a loud, painful sounding thing.

Without thinking, Quinn says, "Bless you," and not quietly, either.

There's a pause and the faucet shuts off.

Quinn waits with her eyes squeezed shut, gritting her teeth in anger at herself.

In a scratchy voice, she hears Broadway say, "Thank you."

The bathroom light shuts off a few moments later, flooding Quinn's apartment back up with darkness.

It takes her about an hour to fall asleep after that.

.

"How's that obnoxious neighbor thing going?" Santana asks when they're eating lunch in Quinn's classroom that Monday.

Quinn isn't sure what to say—and her mouth is full of salad—so she shrugs.

"Overhear anything juicy?"

She shakes her head, still chewing her salad. "Well, I think she's a stage actress or something," she says when she's swallowed.

Santana looks interested at this. "Yeah?"

"She's sick and called someone about an 'understudy.'"

"That would explain the singing."

Quinn nods.

"Hey, maybe she's famous or something."

Quinn doesn't look convinced, so Santana continues.

"No, really," she says. "I mean, the singing is fucking annoying, but she's super good. And we're in New York, Quinn. Does 'Broadway' ring a bell?"

Quinn frowns, not remembering having told Santana about the nickname, but catches on after a minute. "Yeah, I guess. What are you getting at?"

"We should go see her show," the other woman tells her and Quinn laughs. "What?"

"We don't even know if you're right, let alone what show, if any, she's in," Quinn points out. "How would we find it?"

"Well, let's start at the top."

Santana is quiet the rest of lunch, which makes Quinn nervous that she's scheming.

She's proved right when Santana emails her at the end of the day with a copy of her e-ticket to _Wicked_.

.

The show is on a Sunday afternoon, but, in Quinn's opinion, still way over-priced.

It's a good show—don't get her wrong. But they're sitting in what could be considered the 'nose-bleeds' and it had been over $80 a pop.

During intermission, she turns to Santana and says, "I didn't hear her."

"Maybe she's in the ensemble," Santana suggests, but Quinn shakes her head.

"Then why would she need an understudy?"

They stay until the end of the show anyway.

.

Broadway is back to her normal singing volume a few days later.

Quinn smiles when she hears her singing _Masquerade_ and thinks she may have actually missed it.

.

The next show they go to see is _Phantom of the Opera_ , because Quinn is curious now, too.

It's a good performance, but just as big a bust as Wicked.

.

Christmas comes and suddenly all Broadway will sing is Christmas carols.

One evening when she needs to tidy up, Quinn puts her Ella Fitzgerald's Christmas album on and hums with it.

When she's drying her dishes, she's pretty sure she can hear Broadway singing along to _It Came Upon a Midnight Clear._

Quinn can't help but join her, even if it's under her breath and leaves her blushing.

.

Santana's quest to find Broadway picks back up with the New Year.

They see _Matilda, Chicago_ , and _If/Then_ , but still, nothing.

Quinn's not sure who is more disappointed after each—her or Santana.

(she's pretty sure it's her)

.

On Valentine's Day, she hears Broadway crying again.

It's late and the lights in her apartment are out, but Quinn can't help but wish she could say or do something to make her feel better.

She fights herself for about fifteen minutes of quiet sniffles, and then she gets closer to her window and says, "Hey, are you okay?"

The sniffles stop and then she can hear a rustling, like someone moving closer.

Quinn's heart is hammering for some reason, and it only gets worse when Broadway responds with," No. Not really."

"Um…" She licks her lips. "Can I ask what's wrong?"

There's a watery chuckle. "Of course. It's nothing. Men are just idiots, you know?"

Quinn nods. She does know.

"That does tend to be the pattern."

Another laugh.

"That's very true."

After a minute or so long internal debate, Quinn can't help herself. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure," Broadway says.

Quinn pauses. "What's your name?"

It's the other woman's turn to pause. But then she says, "Rachel." And then, "Why?"

Quinn doesn't have an answer, but manages a, "I like to know who I'm comforting."

Rachel laughs again, and that's two—without including the first, sad one—for those of you counting at home.

"Well, thank you," she says.

"No problem."

Rachel—not Broadway—says goodnight.

Quinn doesn't sleep well, but she's wide-awake the next day anyway.

.

"Rachel," Quinn says when she enters Santana's classroom the next morning.

Santana, who is rewinding a VHS on the TV in the corner of the room, jumps. "What?"

"Her name is Rachel."

Santana pauses the video and sets the remote down on her desk. "Do I wanna know how you know that?"

Quinn shrugs.

"Okay." She smirks. "I'll start looking."

.

She gets an email later that day with another ticket, this time to see _Aladdin_.

Santana's message just says, This is the one.

.

For some reason, Quinn feels like she's going to throw up while they sit and wait for the show to start. She holds the playbill in her hands, running her fingertip over the name, "Rachel Berry," that has "Jasmine" written right beside it, and then a long paragraph of other shows that she's been in beneath it.

"Stop tapping your foot," Santana says. "Or it's coming off."

Quinn stops.

"What are you so nervous about anyway? It's just a goddamn show and you're not even in it."

A woman with a small child in the row in front of them turns around, looking scandalized. Santana rolls her eyes.

"No reason," Quinn answers.

Santana rolls her eyes again.

.

Santana's research pays off this time.

Rachel Berry, as it turns out, is Broadway.

And she's absolutely beautiful.

The nausea gets about twenty times worse every time she steps onto the stage and Quinn's heart pounds whenever she hears that familiar voice.

During intermission, Santana turns to her with a smirk firmly planted on her face. "Well?"

Quinn swallows and says, "What?"

"Am I good or am I good?"

It's not really a debate, so Quinn responds, "You're good."

.

Rachel gets home while Quinn's in bed that night.

She isn't positive, but she thinks Rachel may be humming _Prince Ali_.

.

"I'm bored."

"I can't help you with that."

There's a sigh.

"You realize we're at work, right? How are you bored when you're teaching classes all day?"

Santana shrugs and stabs at her lunch with a spork. "I just am," she says. "Maybe I'm lonely." A questionable looking chicken nugget goes in her mouth and she chews it, seemingly lost in thought. "I mean…I haven't gotten any in a few weeks."

Quinn shakes her head. "Nope. Do not look at me," she tells the other woman.

"Like I would want to sleep with you anyway," Santana counters.

"Why do I feel offended?"

Santana rolls her eyes. "Look, nothing personal. You're hot and a good person and smart and you do this thing where you…" She trails off when she sees Quinn staring at her with an eyebrow quirked. "But—" She clears her throat. "—you have a lady boner for your annoying, Broadway star of a neighbor. It's extremely unattractive how much of a lovesick puppy dog you've become."

Quinn swallows and pretends to be searching through her salad with her fork. "I do not have a...a 'lady boner' for Rachel," she says.

"Mhm. And I'm Jamie Lee Curtis in disguise."

Clearly the argument is over and Quinn has lost, so she lets it go and stays quiet until the bell signaling the end of lunch rings.

.

Quinn spends that Friday alone and it's been a week since _Aladdin_.

On Saturday morning, she loses the battle she's been waging all night and buys one of the last remaining tickets for the show that night.

She spends three hours getting ready to go see a show alone on a Saturday night because Santana may have been right—she probably has a crush on Rachel.

And if that sentence alone doesn't say something about the direction her life has taken, nothing does.

By the time she's ready, she has a little over an hour to get to the theater and she rushes down the stairs and outside to catch a cab.

But again, it's Saturday night in New York City and it's hard to find one that isn't already occupied.

After what feels like forever, she finally gestures to a free one and gets their attention.

It's when the cab is pulling up to the sidewalk where she's standing that she hears it—a string of curses and the sound of hurried footsteps.

Quinn has the door open and is about to get in when she's stopped by an, "Excuse me, miss!"

She turns and the sensation of falling hits her like a ton of bricks when she sees Rachel running towards her and trying to get her attention.

"Excuse me," she says when she comes to a halt in front of her. "I'm terribly late for work and need to hurry. As you're the one who hailed it, I would never ask for you to forfeit your taxi, but would you mind terribly if I were to share it with you?"

Quinn is absolutely positive that any attempt to speak would be futile, so she nods towards the open door.

A huge smile breaks its way onto Rachel's face. "Thank you so much!"

Quinn opens the door further and Rachel slips in with Quinn just behind her.

"214 West 42nd street," Rachel tells the driver.

There's a moment or two of silence as she watches Quinn, waiting for her to say where she's going.

Quinn clears her throat and cracks her knuckles nervously before saying, "I'm going to the same place, actually."

The driver pulls out and starts down the street.

"I'll add twenty dollars if you hurry, with an extra five for every stoplight you run," Rachel tells him and he nods and steps on the gas harder. She looks at Quinn. "I'll be covering the fare in return for the kindness you've shown me in letting me share with you."

Quinn nods to show she heard her. After months of living so close to Rachel, she knew that she often spoke in long-winded sentences, but it's entirely different when it's directed at her and not someone she can't see.

They sit in silence for a minute or two and then Rachel says, "So are you going to the show, then?"

Quinn bites her lip and tries not think about the fact that this other woman—this woman she's never even met—has reduced her to anxiety-induced nausea by asking a mere question.

Somehow, she manages a, "Yes."

Rachel laughs. "Me too." When Quinn doesn't say anything, she adds, "I'm actually in it."

Quinn tries to muster her best surprise face.

"Are you a big fan of Broadway?" Rachel asks.

This Quinn smiles at, simply because of the irony in Rachel's question.

"Sure am," she says.

Rachel beams, and then sticks her hand out, "Rachel Berry."

Quinn shakes her hand and presses her lips together when she feels the softness of Rachel's fingers for the first time. "Quinn Fabray."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Quinn."

Quinn smiles.

"You're not much of a talker are you?" Rachel asks.

Apparently, Quinn's brain picks this moment to drop any filter between it and her mouth and then she's saying, "You're just really pretty."

Her eyes go wide when she realizes what she's just said. "I am so sorry."

She looks out the window, thoroughly embarrassed and they're almost to the theater now.

They pull up in front and Quinn hurriedly opens the door to get out.

"Hey, wait!" Rachel says, and she does—almost against her will, like she has no control over herself.

She hears the taxi door close and then Rachel is behind her.

"I'm really late and probably in a load of trouble," she says. Quinn turns around, hands shoved deep in her coat pockets. "And I know that I run the risk of sounding as irrational as Carly Rae Jepson, but, if you wanted to stick around after the show, maybe we could go get coffee or something?"

Honestly, Quinn just can't believe she's actually hearing this. Her heart runs the risk of pounding out of her chest and falling onto the dirty sidewalk.

"It's just you were so nice to me and I feel like I owe you." Rachel looks panicked now and she's blinking a lot.

Quinn has a feeling that if she doesn't say something soon, Rachel will just keep going and miss the show entirely, but she can't seem to swallow around the lump in her throat.

"And I totally understand if you don't want to. I mean, you hardly know me and I you, but—"

"Rachel," Quinn cuts her off when she finally gathers the strength and words to do so. "I'll wait for you in the lobby, okay?" Rachel nods excitedly, but is still making no move towards the theater. "Now, run. You're late, remember?"

Rachel's eyes go wide in panic, but she manages to say, "See you then," before sprinting towards the side door of the theater.

Quinn shakes her head and tries to gather herself before heading inside with the rest of the crowd.

.

Rachel is amazing, despite being late.

Not that there was any doubt she would be.

At intermission, Quinn checks her phone to find a missed call from Santana and a handful of text messages.

She calls her back and is greeted buy a drunken, "Fabray!"

"Hey," Quinn says softly, trying to be considerate of the people around her.

"What took you s'long?"

"I'm busy," Quinn tells her. "What do you need?"

Santana laughs. "I need you to come over and get drunk with me."

"I don't think that's such a good idea."

"Why's that?" Santana asks, sounding angry.

"I, um…I have a thing in an hour or so…" She pauses and swallows her throat, partially afraid that elaborating will make her realize it's all in her head. "I…I'm going to get coffee with Rachel."

Santana cheers loudly and Quinn has to hold her phone away from her ear.

A few people sitting nearby look at her, and she smiles apologetically at them.

"Tap that ass, girl," Santana says when Quinn presses her phone back to her ear. "You need to get laid."

"Don't be gross," Quinn scolds, but she can feel her cheeks heat up as she blushes.

"Whatever. Everyone was thinking it, so I said it."

"I highly doubt everyone was thinking it."

The lights blink twice, signaling that the intermission is ending.

"Hey, I've got to go," Quinn says to Santana. "Try not to hurt yourself."

"No promises, bitch."

Quinn rolls her eyes and hangs up, slipping her phone into her purse just as the lights go out and the orchestra starts back up.

.

It takes a while for the theater to empty afterwards—a lot of people stand around at the vendors inside, or just talking for a while.

Sometime after most everyone has left—just when Quinn is checking the time on her phone and wondering if she should even bother waiting any longer—she feels the tap of a finger on her shoulder.

Behind her is Rachel, in the same jeans, hoodie, and coat she'd been in before the show. Her hood is up and she looks like she's trying to hide.

For the first time, Quinn realizes that she's dealing with someone who has fans—people beside herself who know her name and probably want to meet her.

"You actually waited for me," Rachel says.

For some strange reason, Quinn's legs are tingling and she feels rather sick.  
She powers through it enough to say, "Of course," which makes Rachel beam. "How much trouble were you in for being late?"

Rachel smiles and shakes her head. "Not much, surprisingly. It's hard to fire one of the stars of your show on the spot. Besides, I'm not even in the first few scenes."

Quinn nods.

"So where are we headed?" Rachel asks. She walks towards the exit and Quinn follows close behind her.

"No idea," Quinn says, smiling when Rachel holds the door open for her.

The sidewalk is mostly empty, so Rachel stops underneath the marquee and says, "You're about as indecisive as you are quiet."

Blood rushes to Quinn's face and she's trying to think of ways to escape when she sees that Rachel is smiling.

She's kidding.

Relief washes through her and Quinn lets out a nervous laugh.

"Yeah, I guess so."

Rachel's smile gets bigger. "Okay. Follow me."

Quinn does.

.

They end up in a Starbucks right down the street, which Quinn thinks is wildly unoriginal.

It's mostly empty, so their orders don't take long and then they're sitting at a table, silent and awkward.

Quinn presses her thumb into the thick paper of her cup. It's still too hot to drink, which she hates, because she wants to take a sip, if only to give her mouth something to do other than open and close like a fish as she searches for words.

Rachel props her chin on her hand and her elbow on the table, eyes trained on the window beside them. She watches people go by silently and Quinn watches her, wondering how she even got into a situation like this.

The whole thing is a bit like a ridiculous romantic comedy.

She can practically see Drew Barrymore playing Rachel and Adam Sandler playing an equally awkward, but less attractive her.

Her phone rings suddenly and she jumps, and pulls it out of her coat pocket once she's calmed herself.

It's Santana again and she slides her thumb across the screen to ignore it.

"Do you need to take that?" Rachel asks.

It's the first time either of them has said a word since entering the coffee shop and the sound of her voice shakes Quinn out of her short-lived stupor.

"Oh, um, no," she says. "It's just a drunk-dial from my friend."

Rachel makes a face like she's curious and amused at the same time. "Sounds fun."

Quinn sighs. "Not particularly." She pauses and searches for something to say. "She's, um, sort of hit a dry spell in her love life and apparently thinks I can do something to fix it," she explains.

Rachel laughs. "Well, what's her type?" she asks. "I have a couple friends in the cast who are single and looking to mingle."

"I'm not actually positive. Let me get back to you on that."

Rachel bobs her head. "So what do you do for a living? Are you still a student or…?"

"No." Quinn shakes her head. "I mean…I was, but a year ago. I'm actually an English teacher at Eleanor Roosevelt High School," she tells her.

Rachel grins at this and says, "Really?" like she can't believe it.

Quinn takes a chance and tries her coffee—taking a bigger drink upon finding that it's a reasonable temperature. "What?" she asks, once she's swallowed—both the liquid and some of the nervousness bubbling under her skin.

"I never would have pegged you as a teacher. A model, maybe. An actress? Sure. But not a teacher."

"Why's that?"

Rachel shrugs. "Have you seen you?" She whistles through her teeth and Quinn's pretty sure she's blushing from her head to her toes now. "I bet all the students have a crush on you." Rachel sips her own coffee, and then adds, "I know I would," which only makes Quinn's situation across the table that much worse.

"Thank you," she manages to mumble after a moment.

"It is not in my nature to tell anything but the truth," Rachel says. "But now for a more serious topic."

She leans her elbows on the table and Quinn quirks an eyebrow.

"What's your favorite color?"

.

It's late when they're finished and they share a taxi back to Rachel's apartment building.

"I'm assuming you live close," she says, on the way.

Quinn wants to say, 'You have no idea,' but, for some reason, she really doesn't want Rachel to find out how close she really does live.

It's obvious that the other woman has no idea that she's her neighbor—that she was the one who comforted her on Valentine's Day.

Were she to find out now, after their chance meeting, Rachel may jump to the conclusion that Quinn is some kind of stalker, and that's the last thing she wants.

So she just says, "Yeah, I do," and they make small talk during the drive.

"Is this the part where you kill me?" Rachel asks, when they're standing on the sidewalk and the taxi has pulled away. "You've got the quiet, serial killer thing about you. Except you're far prettier than any serial killer I've ever seen." She pauses briefly. "Maybe that's how you lure them in."

Quinn laughs and raises a hand to cut her off. "I'm not a serial killer and I'm not going to kill you."

Rachel nods and smiles. "Okay," she says. "Well, in that case, I had a nice time."

"Yeah. Me too."

"I would not be averse to doing this again, if you wanted to," Rachel offers.

Quinn smiles and she's positive this girl is going to be the death of her.

"I would love to."

Rachel beams and they exchange phone numbers. "I'll call you, okay?" she says and Quinn nods. "Now, seeing as I have a matinee tomorrow, I should probably call it a night."

"Of course." Quinn shoves her hands deeper into her pockets.

"Okay. Goodnight, Quinn."

"Goodnight, Rachel."

Rachel starts towards her apartment building and Quinn watches after her.

Suddenly, she stops and turns around so that she's walking backwards. "Oh," she says, loud enough that Quinn can hear her. "And next time will be an actual date."

Quinn shivers as panic shoots through her.

Still, she smiles and waves.

She certainly wasn't expecting Rachel "Broadway" Berry, who sings show tunes and breaks plates and glasses every other day, to have game.

.

She waits about ten minutes before heading into her own apartment building, in order to make sure that Rachel really doesn't see.

By the time she's safe in her apartment, she can hear Rachel through their respective open windows, humming distantly.

.

On Monday, Santana saunters into Quinn's classroom before first period.

"So," she starts, sitting on the edge of Quinn's desk. "How'd it go? Is she even louder in bed than she is on the stage?"

Quinn's eyes go wide and she swats the other woman's arm. "I did not sleep with her," she says through gritted teeth. "And, even if I did, I wouldn't talk about it with you, especially not ten minutes before classes start."

"So, I'm guessing you didn't get laid then."

"Don't you have an elsewhere to be?"

"Fine, fine." Santana stands and holds her hands up in surrender. "I get it, you don't really love me."

Quinn rolls her eyes and recovers just in time for the first of her students to enter.

.

Rachel calls her that evening.

"I would apologize for seeming eager by calling so soon, if it weren't for the fact that I am," she says.

Quinn holds the phone to her shoulder briefly, listening through her window for any sign that Rachel is in her apartment.

When she hears nothing, she picks the phone back up and says, "It's fine. I'm glad you called."

"Me too."

There's the sound of honking and some yelling on the other end.

"Where are you?" Quinn asks.

"Outside of the theater," Rachel tells her. "I just got finished with a show."

"Oh, okay."

"So, I don't know what your Thursdays are typically like, but that's my day off. If you wanted to go to dinner that evening, that would be lovely."  
Quinn grins like she can't help herself. "My Thursdays are free."

Rachel sounds like she's smiling, too, when she says, "Wonderful."

.

They meet in front of Rachel's apartment building and go to an Italian restaurant a few blocks away.

Dinner is full of small talk and get-to-know-you questions.

It's wonderful and so is Rachel and Quinn never wants it to end.

Apparently Rachel feels the same way because she says, "Would you want to have lunch on Saturday?" before they say goodbye.

.

Thursday dinners and coffee and lunches start happening more often after that.

By their seventh date—spent cooking and watching Funny Girl in Rachel's apartment—Quinn has learned some new things:

\- Rachel is two years older than her.

\- She has dreamed of being on Broadway since she was three years old.

\- She has two fathers.

\- Her apartment is far bigger than Quinn's.

\- She absolutely adores Barbra Streisand.

\- She is an amazing kisser.

The fifth one, she sort of already knew, but it there's something refreshing hearing it from the source.

The sixth is by far her favorite, though.

It's awkward at first, mostly because Rachel initiates it and Quinn is certain her heart is going to pound out of her chest—not to mention the angle and the plates on their laps.

Still, it's no trouble at all to kiss her back right away.

Eventually the plates are moved to the coffee table and some of the initial awkward tension dissipates with Rachel straddling her lap. After that, it's smooth sailing and quiet moans for the better part of an hour.

.

Kurt and Brittany, Rachel's best friends, are wonderful and welcoming when Quinn meets them.

They hug her and Kurt calls her 'gorgeous' more than once as they all sit around Rachel's living room.

"She has a much better fashion sense than some of your other romantic interests," he says.

Rachel laughs. "Yes, she does."

"She also has better hair," Brittany adds.

Quinn blushes and Rachel says, "Sure, but that's not too hard."

Quinn takes this as a compliment and the other two find it hilarious.

.

They end up setting Brittany up with Santana at Rachel's insistence.

Quinn doesn't think it will go well.

She's wrong.

They go to dinner and it's obvious that they hit it off right from the start.

Brittany is attentive and interested in the things Santana has to say, and Santana actually acts like a normal, human being—which Quinn thinks probably helps some.

When Quinn asks if she's going to call Brittany during their lunch break the next day, Santana blushes and says, "Probably."

.

In late March, Rachel tells her about Finn, her ex-fiancé—the one who left her at the alter.

Quinn holds her hand when Rachel tells her that they were high school sweethearts who thought they were ready for that kind of commitment, only to be proven wrong when Finn had gotten cold feet and left her for a close friend.

"Ironically, they got married not too long ago," she says.

She looks like she's about to cry and Quinn can't stand it.

"Fuck them," she says and Rachel looks at her, shocked. "They're not worth your time."  
Rachel laughs and kisses Quinn gently.

"No," she says. "They're really not, are they?"

.

The day they make things official and exclusive is the day Rachel introduces Quinn to the cast of her show.

An usher had been sent to retrieve Quinn once the curtain closed and he leads her backstage, where Rachel is waiting.

She's paraded around to meet everyone and, she'd be annoyed if they weren't so nice and Rachel wasn't holding her hand and calling her, "Quinn, my girlfriend."

.

The first time they sleep together is just a few days after that.

They've been trying to take it slow because of Rachel's lack of experience in dating girls, mixed with how nervous she makes Quinn.

But they're in Rachel's apartment and Rachel has Quinn pressed back into the armrest of the couch, pressing kisses into her neck and Quinn says, "I'm ready..." in a breathy voice.

Rachel draws back and looks at her, searching her face for any sign of hesitation. "Me too," she says, when she sees none.

Quinn smiles and then they're kissing again.

Somehow they make it to the bedroom and, before Quinn can really register what's happening, her clothes are off and Rachel is between her legs, doing this thing with her tongue that has her clutching the bedsheets.

Needless to say, by the time they've finished, respectively, Quinn wishes she'd said she was ready weeks ago.

.

"So is it weird living right next-door to your lady lover?" Santana asks one day in April, when she's walking out of the school with Quinn.

Quinn shrugs. "Not really," she answers. "Besides, we spend most of our time at Rachel's anyway."

"That's understandable, what with the size of your place." She holds the door open for Quinn and follows her outside. "Was she thoroughly creeped out when she was informed of the lengths you went to in order to find her?"

Quinn gives her a look. "You mean the lengths you went to?"

"Whatever."

She shoulders past a young man being led down the sidewalk by three large dogs. "Rachel actually doesn't know we live so close to each other."

Santana stops walking and Quinn has to duck out of the way of a woman with a bunch of shopping bags in order to stop as well.

"What?" she asks.

"You didn't tell her?"

"No."

Santana takes a few more steps so that they're side-by-side again. "Why the hell not? She's actually going to think you're a weirdo when she finds out you've been hiding it."

"Which is why I don't want to tell her. I don't want her to think I'm a stalker," Quinn says.

Santana sighs. "Quinn, honey."

"What?" Quinn snaps, pretending to be looking across the street at some of the buildings.

"You kind of are."

.

"Why do we never go to your apartment?" Rachel asks a few nights later, when they're in her bed.

Quinn tugs the sheets up over her bare chest and shrugs, momentarily causing a pause in the movement of Rachel's fingers running up and down her arm.

"Quinn, honey," Rachel scolds. "Words, please."

That's easier said than done, mostly because Quinn's mind is still stuck on where those trailing fingers had been minutes before.

Finally, she manages an,"I don't know, Rach."

"Let's go tomorrow, then," Rachel suggests.

Quinn bites her lip, but tries her best to quell her panic. "You have a show tomorrow night, remember?"

"After my show, baby."

She sighs.

There's no real way out now.

"Okay."

Rachel smiles and kisses her cheek. "Perfect."

.

Quinn waits for Rachel out front of her apartment building after her show the next night.

"Hey, sweetie," Rachel greets, as she gets out her cab and comes over.

"Hi," Quinn manages, around the lump in her throat.

Rachel kisses her briefly, then grabs her hand. "Lead the way."

Quinn swallows and does just that.

.

Rachel is quiet from the moment the enter Quinn's apartment building, right beside Rachel's own.

She doesn't say a word in the lobby or elevator or hallway—even when they're standing in Quinn's very small apartment.

Quinn stays by the door while she tentatively walks around.

It's when Rachel reaches the open windows—with a view of her own just across the way—that she finally speaks.

"It was you, wasn't it?" she asks, turning around to look at her girlfriend. "That night when I was crying."

Quinn bites her lip. She nods.

Rachel goes quiet again and stares at her blankly for what feels like forever.

"I know," Quinn blurts out, eyes wide with fear—fear that she's done it; she's finally scared her away because of this. "You probably think I'm some sort of stalker, especially because I knew who you were before we met. And, really, I mean, that was all Santana. She heard you singing and then I overheard this thing about an understudy, so she thought you might be famous, and dragged me to all these shows because she wanted to find you and we found you after you told me your name and I had some sort of crush on you so I was on my way to see your show when we met and I…"

She pauses and blinks back a few tears. "I fell in love with you and now you think I'm a freak or something."

Rachel just continues to stare at her and Quinn starts to anticipate what she's going to say next—I can't be with you; You lied to me; It's over.

She crosses her arms to protect her chest from the forthcoming blow.

"Just do it," she says.

Rachel seems to snap out of whatever world she'd been in, then. "Just do what?" she asks.

Quinn looks at her. "Just break up with me."

There's a moment of silence and Quinn stares at her feet.

"I'm not going to break up with you."

Quinn looks up at her. "Y-You're not?"

"I already knew."

Another pause.

Quinn blinks. "What?"

"I figured it out a couple of weeks after we started dating," Rachel tells her with a shrug. "I have a good memory and it isn't as if you disguised your voice or anything. Why do you think I insisted on you taking me here tonight?"

Quinn's mouth is open a little as she stares at the woman in front of her.

Rachel smiles. "I actually think it's kind of sweet," she admits. "I mean, not the hiding it from me part, but I'm not really used to people working so hard to get to know me, I guess." She takes a few steps forward and uncrosses Quinn's arms. "It's kind of flattering."

"Seriously?" Quinn asks, not quite believing it.

But Rachel kisses her.

Rachel doesn't leave.

"Seriously," is the answer she gets.

She smiles and, this time, she believes her.

"Quinn?" Rachel says, pressing a kiss into Quinn's neck.

"What, baby?"

"I love you too."

.

Quinn's third apartment is much bigger.

There are two bedrooms and a living room and all the counter space she could ever dream of.

Santana seems envious when she helps with the moving in process, alongside Kurt and Brittany.

"What are you even going to do with a second bedroom?" she grouses, half-heartedly.

Brittany calms her with a kiss on the cheek and takes the box from her arms, setting it on the floor.

"We're making it into a study/guest room," Rachel says, coming up beside Quinn and grabbing her arm. "Quinn's bed has to go somewhere now that she won't need it, after all."

Quinn smiles at her and kisses her firmly, with her hands on her girlfriend's waist.

Her third apartment is her favorite by far.

Her third apartment is the one she shares with Rachel.

..

_fin_

…

**Author's Note:**

> the title is from the E.M. Forster novel of the same name.


End file.
